


Poetry Written in Flowers

by Immamausoleum



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Getting Together, Light Angst, Lovesick Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Poetry, ineffable husbands, post armageddon that wasnt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 07:55:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21472621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immamausoleum/pseuds/Immamausoleum
Summary: “Crowley! I’m sorry dear boy, I didn’t hear you come in. I’m afraid I’ve lost track of time taking inventory of my stock, just to be certain that young Adam hasn’t forgotten anything, not that he isn’t a capable boy but he is only twelve, after all.” His eyes flit from Crowley’s face to the book in his hands, brows shooting up in surprise. “Oh! Oh you’ve found it! I’d thought I lost that book some hundred years ago, wherever was it?” Aziraphale asks, holding a hand out for the poetry book which Crowley gladly surrenders.“You forced it on me a while back, I skimmed it here and there.” Read it cover to cover several times over, more like. “Forgot I even had it till I was doing a spot of cleaning today.”(Little did Crowley know, a page with his own poetry had been folded into that book after a certain argument between the two of them. This is a story about how they got together after the armageddon, centered around a poem that I've done in Crowley's POV that involves the language of flowers that Crowley wrote while drunk and used as a bookmark in Aziraphale's book on accident.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 26





	Poetry Written in Flowers

It turns out that demonic magic is useless against holy stains, which comes as no surprise though Crowley is of the opinion that what remains of a demons form should have at least canceled out the effectiveness of holy water. It would be fitting wouldn’t it? Demonic essence deconsecrating it? But no, no it could never be that easy could it? So Crowley is left to deal with the sad puddle of Ligur Soup that still stains his office carpet with Utmost care, as he has no wishes to join the unfortunate being in his pitiful and goopy fate. Given more thought though, it does make sense. The holy water *had* been personally blessed by an angel himself, rather than some priest. Problem is, holy water can’t be diluted, which is bloody stupid in Crowley’s opinion, because any water that touches this puddle would immediately become holy itself, really he should just call Aziraphale up and make the prissy angel clean up this mess himself- But he won’t. Holy water is… A touchy subject between them, and the demon is too exhausted to reopen old wounds so soon after what could have been the end of… Everything. Instead, he rolls the whole carpet up on his hands and knees wearing a pair of unattractive rubber waders and arm-length gloves, and something catches his eye from beneath his desk at this vantage point.. a book? The heaven did that get there? He can deal with that later. Cleaning up holy water takes an extreme amount of focus when you’re a demon who has plans on existing for quite some time into the future thanks muchly. 

The carpet was rolled up into a convenient log and tossed into the dumpster outside of his flat, though the spot beneath it would still feel like concentrated ground for… Crowley isn’t actually sure how long. That will be something to keep him on his toes, and it has the advantage of repelling any other.. surprise visitors. Of the demonic sort, anyway. He’ll have to find a suitable replacement for the carpet, which should damper the effects of the spot at least.

It’s only once he’s settled in his favorite chair, pouring himself a drink to celebrate a job well done- that he remembers to check the book. Right.

Setting his glass aside, Crowley ducks under the desk to retrieve it, turning the thing over in his hands.. "Ah." So that’s what it is. One of the poetry books Aziraphale had insistently sent home with him. Crowley remembers now.. 

_“Oh you simply must read it my dear, I came across it rather recently you see, though I seem to have missed the author by twenty years or so which is a shame.. He had such a way with words you know, and seems not to have made much success as I can hardly find any more of his works.. A miracle would have been well spent on bringing more attention to his writing, but the timing wasn’t to be… Ah, such is the way of the ineffable. But, I insist you take it home with you Crowley, I rather think you’d enjoy his poetry.”___

_ _They’d both been drunk, and Aziraphale’s ramblings had taken a different path soon after. Crowley had forgotten about it entirely until he’d returned home only to find the small book of poems tucked into his coat pockets, and he’d resigned himself to reading them, since Aziraphale had been so insistent. He’d only read a few at a time, making a routine of it. He’d probably have read them all in one go had his eyes cooperated, but as it was, snake eyes aren’t exactly ideal for reading the written word, not like he let that stop him though. The book had been full of love poems that made him feel ill and giddy to read, and not because of his demonic status. _ _

_ _That was over.. What? Two? Three hundred years ago? He should probably return it. There are usually due dates with borrowed books, Crowley remembers, he was a part of that being implemented in most human libraries actually. He’d been particularly irritated with Aziraphale that year, and he’d received a commendation for it from below, as well as a scolding from the angel. At least this gives him an excuse to visit the bookshop, not that he particularly needs an excuse now, but he’s still getting used to that fact. One step at a time. _ _

_ _The drive from Mayfair to Soho is a short and familiar one, that finds Crowley, now dressed in his usual attire, sauntering into the bookshop in no time at all. _ _

_ _“Hey Angel! Popped by to return a book you leant me.” The bookshop was restored completely by the Antichrist, but Crowley can still smell smoke at the back of his throat, which he promptly ignores, popping his head around the corner of a shelf to find Aziraphale sitting on a small stool, piles of books surrounding him like a fort. “Aziraphale?” _ _

_ _Said angel looks up in surprise, blinking as he reorients himself and a bright smile crosses his face. “Crowley! I’m sorry dear boy, I didn’t hear you come in. I’m afraid I’ve lost track of time taking inventory of my stock, just to be certain that young Adam hasn’t forgotten anything, not that he isn’t a capable boy but he is only twelve, after all.” His eyes flit from Crowley’s face to the book in his hands, brows shooting up in surprise. “Oh! Oh you’ve found it! I’d thought I lost that book some hundred years ago, wherever was it?” Aziraphale asks, holding a hand out for the poetry book which Crowley gladly surrenders. _ _

_ _“You forced it on me a while back, I skimmed it here and there.” Read it cover to cover several times over, more like. “Forgot I even had it till I was doing a spot of cleaning today.” _ _

_ _“Oh! I do believe I remember now, thank you for keeping it safe for me all this time dear.” The angel responds, smoothing his palm over it’s cover, patting it fondly. He looks as if he’s about to sit back down and start reading it then and there, but before he gets the chance Crowley interjects. _ _

_ _“Why don’t you hold off on your inventory a bit yeah? We can go out, catch some..” He pauses, shifts so that he can peek at the shop windows around one of the bookshelves to see just what time of day it is. Aziraphale hasn’t reset the time on his clocks for far too long, it’s their opinion that it’s currently midnight, which it decidedly is Not. “Late lunch? There’s this place I’ve been meaning to show you.” Crowley is always scouting for new restaurants with which he can impress Aziraphale, often tasting everything on the menu to be sure it’s up to par with the angel’s tastes. _ _

_ _Aziraphale perks up at the mention of a meal, having quite forgotten to eat while taking his inventory, his cup of tea resting cold next to his stool- Going out and sharing lunch with Crowley sounds absolutely lovely. “Yes, Crowley I think your right. A spot of lunch would be perfect, let me just-..” he trails off, stepping over to find the returned book’s spot, gently tucking it into it’s place before beaming to see the gap filled. “There, home and safe.” The angel says, before turning to retrieve his coat before facing his friend with a warm smile. “Shall we?” _ _

_ _

_ _The book is forgotten entirely as they absorb themselves in each others company and a delightful meal that day, followed by drinks shared in the shop’s back room, as is tradition._ _

**Author's Note:**

> So, this all started because I wrote a few poems in Crowley's point of view, which will be shown in later chapters, though it's work in progress thats been kinda hastily thrown together rip, but! I've got Big Feelings about Crowley so yeah


End file.
